


To Want, To Need

by wingedbears



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Archie Andrews, Don't Try This At Home, Hand Jobs, Light BDSM, M/M, Oral Sex, Relationship of Convenience, Self-Bondage, Self-Hatred, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-07 23:15:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15918234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedbears/pseuds/wingedbears
Summary: Archie Andrews is the All American boy next door.  But he doesn't feel that way, and when he realizes that pain helps him not think for a moment, he chases that feeling...PLEASE READ AUTHOR'S NOTE RE: BDSM PLAY





	To Want, To Need

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! Archie makes some poor, uninformed choices in this fic, especially when it comes to self bondage. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. DO NOT BE ARCHIE.
> 
> Further in, Jughead makes a hasty, poorly informed choice about kink negotiation. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.
> 
> There are vast references on kink negotiation and self bondage, and they do not look at them.
> 
> BE SAFE!!

Archie slams the front door shut and sighs. Vegas dances in front of him, jumping up and down, wagging his tail furiously. “Hey buddy,” Archie says, low and heavy. He sinks down to the floor, his back sliding on the front door. The weight of school, the weight of everything was on him, and he didn’t know how long he could take it anymore. 

He leans his head back, thumps it four times against the door. His eyes are shut tight, and he’s loosely hanging on to Vegas, letting the dog lick him all over.

Archie thinks he might be shaking, but he doesn’t know for sure. He just knows his chest is tight and his breath is short. He shouldn’t be doing this. He’s the average American kid, the boy next door, the luckiest kid on the block. He should be practicing music, maybe taking Val out to Pop’s. 

What he does instead is throw up in the garbage can.

He takes out the evidence to the curb, bagged up and stinking. And goes to the garage, shaking from exhaustion. He picks up the guitar, pulls the strap around his neck, and strums a few chords, unthinking and easy. He looks at the sheet music, notes dancing across the page, but they don’t make any sense right now. Archie fumbles with the papers, trying to read them and picking out notes. 

He doesn’t think about Grundy. He doesn’t think about his dad losing his job. He doesn’t think about his Mom leaving. He doesn’t think about the guilt of abandoning Jughead that summer. Instead, he plays his music, letting his hands work through memory.

He goes to bed, restless.

School the next day is better, maybe there’s something about sleep helping when nothing else can. But when Reggie comes up to remind him of football practice, Archie holds in a wince. He loves music, and he loves football, but right now he feels detached, just going through the motions. 

Classes go by in a blur, and occasionally Betty or Val will ask if he’s okay before he brushes it off, and when lunch time comes around, it gets worse. Betty leans over her sandwich, her whole face twisted in worry. “Archie, you haven’t eaten anything,” she says. She leans back. “I don’t mean to mother hen,” she starts.

“I do,” Kevin says, picking up the thread. “Aren’t you going to practice today? I’m no expert but I think you’re supposed to eat.”

“Guys,” Archie sighs, running a hand through his hair, “leave it, okay?”

Everyone is quiet in shock. Archie’s the open one, Jughead’s the mysterious one. It’s not supposed to be like this.

Jughead squints at him while stuffing a fistful of fries in his mouth. “Archie’s deep in thought,” he drawls. “It just seems weird because it’s never happened before.”

Archie rolls his eyes but smiles. Leave it to Jughead to say the right and the wrong thing. 

“Don’t worry,” Veronica pipes in, succinct and coy, “Archiekins will be back to his puppy dog antics tomorrow.” She raises an eyebrow and steals one of Betty’s chips, popping it into her mouth. 

Betty’s mouth flattens into a line before smiling, quickly looking down at her food. It almost looks like she’s blushing, but Jughead steals the table’s attention with the latest development in his book.

Before Archie can think about picking at his food, the fourth block bell rings, and he has to book it to biology. Cheryl is enigmatic as always, or at least, that’s how Betty puts it. She pouts at Archie as they work on the lab sheet. Archie stares down at the paper, and wished his life could be as simple as hypothesis to conclusion. 

Cheryl says something and flips her hair over her shoulder, but Archie’s hearing is delayed, and he looks at her questioningly. “Pay attention, Andrews,” she snaps, and Archie goes back to staring at the lab worksheet. 

Finally, football practice comes around. 

Archie gears up in the locker room, keeping his eyes to himself. He doesn’t like to look at the other boys, not because it would turn him on necessarily, but because he feels like they would know about him, and it would affect his game. He’s part of a team, and part of that team is keeping the status quo. The status quo being that he’s not bisexual. 

The all American boy next door, that’s Archie.

“Come on, Andrews,” Reggie says, snapping a towel at him. “Get on the field.”

“You’re not on the field,” Archie complains.

Reggie rolls his eyes. “Perks of being the captain.”

“Whatever,” Archie grumbles and yanks his jersey over his pads. He jogs onto the field after Mantle, and runs suicide sprints with the team. He feels better than he has all day, suddenly. Like he doesn’t have to think for himself, he just has to run, to listen to the shouts of Coach and Reggie. 

Coach has them split and do runs of plays, and Archie takes his position behind the running back, crouched down waiting. Everything seems in slow motion as the ball is tossed back into his hands and Reggie, half back for the opposing play, runs and tackles him. Archie is only aware of the lift of his body off the ground, the tightness of Reggie’s arms around him. Archie feels like he’s flying, like everything is suddenly clear in this moment. Then the ground rises up to meet them, and Archie drops the ball, grunting as the full weight of Reggie Mantle drops on him. Archie feels like he’s gasping, maybe he is. Reggie is already standing up, holding a hand out to Archie to help him up.

Archie flails a bit before grabbing the proffered hand. 

“You alright?” Reggie asks, squinting his face while Coach comes up, yelling and waving his clipboard. All Archie can think is that if Reggie Mantle thinks something’s wrong, he must be really messed up.

“I’m okay,” he grinds out, and Reggie twists his mouth in a frown, but shrugs and walks away, and Coach makes Archie run laps for the fumble.

Archie just feels glad for the orders.

 

Archie skips going to Pop’s and heads straight for home. When he gets there, he lays on his bed and closes his eyes. He tries to take deep breaths, letting the stress of the day slide out of him. But it stays, and tightens - a ball of stress and tension that Archie can’t seem to get rid of. The only time it seemed to get better was this afternoon during football practice. 

Archie presses a hand into his ribs where a bruise is blooming from Reggie tackling him. He gasps, and the world comes into focus finally. Like he doesn’t have to think if there’s some pain going on. It’s a little strange, he never thought he’d be like this, a person who needs pain to let go. Archie takes a deep breath in and closes his eyes, presses a little harder into the bruise. It’s a low ache, not a sharp pain, and it’s not enough. 

Archie huffs out a frustrated sigh and rolls over, planting his face into his pillow. He breathes in the must of his own smell for a minute. He feels the rise of tears and anxiety again, and stuffs his hand under his torso to press on the bruise again, harder. He shudders and feels the tightness in his chest go away. 

Archie frowns. This wasn’t normal, right? Of course, what was? His first sexual encounter was with an older woman, and Archie never likes to think about that. When he does he feels like he can’t breathe again. 

Jughead used to joke that there was too much normality in their town, and that now there’s no such thing. 

Archie wishes he was actually what everyone thought he was, and that way he wouldn’t feel so out of place. He wishes that he could just be that all American boy next door, the football star, the skirt chaser (although he has qualms with the phrase). 

Now he’s lying face down in his bed, pressing on bruises and wishing someone else would press new ones into his skin. 

Archie rolls over and thinks. His mind went clear with pain when the tightness of Reggie’s arms went around him, when Coach gave him orders. 

Archie gets up and goes to the bathroom. He knows that there’s an ace bandage in there, knows because he used it last season when he sprained his wrist. 

He finds it under the sink, and he pulls off his shirt, sitting on the cold tile floor. He slowly, fumbling, wraps the bandage around his chest, tighter and tighter until he finally breathe again. He goes back to his bed, and lays down, short breaths turn into long draws of air before Archie finds sleep. 

The next morning, Archie’s chest feels tight, like a rope is digging into his ribs. He looks down and sees that the bandage rolled up in the night. He peels it off, feeling clumsy and ragged. The impression left is sore and red, and gets worse when he puts his arms down. 

It’s perfect.

Archie showers, letting the water run too hot, water beating against the bruises and aches, self made or not. It’s Friday, and that means a match for football. He feels like the first time in forever he’s looking forward to it.

School is better, and Archie can actually concentrate through English and Trig before lunch. He even manages a smile to Val, who looks like she’s exasperated but warm. 

“Hey,” he says, leaning against the lockers.

Val’s lips quirk up in a smile, slow and easy like always. “Hey yourself, Andrews,” she says. “Where’ve you been this week?” she runs a hand down his arm, letterman jacket in the way. 

“Practice, then music, then practice,” he says, ducking his head, but he’s still almost a foot taller than her so he can still see her look up at him under her lashes. 

“Okay,” she says, tilting her head. Then she gets that look that Archie loves and hates, because it mean she’s about to drop a truth bomb on him. “You’re giving me the brush off, huh?” She crosses her arms. 

Archie mouth gapes open, and he swallows.

“I see by the panicked look you have you’d like me to redact that statement?”

“Val,” he starts, running a hand through his hair, “I really like you.” 

Val holds a hand up and rolls her eyes. “Not to sound like Veronica, but I’m not the subject of a Carly Rae Jepsen song. It’s been,” she sighs, “fun, but,” she shrugs “it’s not us, it’s us?”

Archie huffs out a laugh. “It’s definitely me,” he says. 

Val shakes her head, and someone behind Archie catches Val’s eye. “We both have our eyes on something else, or,” and Jughead passes, shooting them a questioning frown but not stopping, “someone else.”

Archie blushes, cursing his red headed genes. He rubs a hand over his face, pulling at the ache around his chest.

Val smiles brightly, and leans up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “You’re a good guy, Arch.”

“And you’re a great person,” Archie replies. “Still friends?”

Val looks at him with blue eyes. “Yeah,” she nods. “Still friends.”

Lunch is stilted after that, Jughead probably putting together the pieces together because he’s too smart. It doesn’t seem like he told anyone yet, and Archie really doesn’t want to bring up that he and Val are now officially friends. Instead he tunes in and out of the conversation, Jughead sending him furtive, quizzical looks. 

The next two blocks are slow, because all classes after lunch are slow, and Archie barely gets through them, occasionally squeezing his arms into his sides. The ache is slowly fading, and Archie can’t wait until the game tonight so he can have something to work with. Because along with the bruises that are fading, so is his concentration. 

Finally, the last bell rings, and Archie stuffs all the books he needs over the weekend into his book bag and shuts his locker, only to be startled by Jughead, leaning against his locker with a shrewd look on his face. It’s the same look that Val gave him before she laid it on him, and Archie loves it and hates it more than he did with Val. Maybe Jughead is the reason he loves it so much. He’s not sure why he hates it, other than he can’t do anything about it. 

Jughead has his arms crossed, and Archie with holds the urge to groan. He’s had enough of conversations by his locker today.

“I’m torn between asking you about what the hell is going on, and letting you flail at your own stupidity.”

“Hey!”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “Kidding,” he says. “What’s up?”

Archie wants to bang his head against the lockers. “Val and I broke up,” he says. He doesn’t say that he’s going down a weird hole and needs help. He probably should, just admit that he’s searching for something that can clear the constant buzzing in his head, the ever tightening grip the world has on his lungs.

Jughead hums in response, his face not revealing much. “Didn’t seem too dramatic when I passed by at lunch,” he says.

“It wasn’t. We’re still friends, we just,” Archie shrugs. “It’s not doing much for either of us.”

Jughead blinks, wrinkles his nose. “Yeah. You sound devastated.” It’s said in Jughead’s usual flat tone, but Archie has spent a lifetime knowing Jughead’s nuances. This is beyond sarcasm. 

This time it’s Archie that rolls his eyes. “I gotta go warm up for the game,” he says. 

“You going to Pop’s after?” Jughead asks, an offering of an olive branch. 

Archie smiles, at least it feels like a smile, he’s not sure it’s not coming out as a cringe. Being at Pop’s tonight is the last thing he wants to do, even though he do almost anything to make it up to Jughead. The expression slips off his face. “I’m really tired, Jug,” he says, the truth. 

Jughead sighs, looking resigned. 

“I’m not shoving you off, honest!” Archie says, and grabs onto Jughead’s arm before he can walk off. “Come to my house tonight,” he says. “It’s the weekend. I can beat your ass at Mario Kart all night.”

Jughead smirks. “Yeah right,” he says, lighting up, “You are the one getting his ass beat, and you’ll thank me for it.” He looks smug, delighted by the comeback and the offer, but Archie’s head is stuck on Jughead’s last words suddenly ricocheting around in his head. 

Archie wants to say _yes, he would_ , and _please and thank you_ , but instead laughs. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says. “But I really do need to get to warm ups.”

Jughead tilts his head back towards the exit. “Well, I’d say see you at the game, but,” and he shrugs. 

“I know,” Archie says, following the line of Jug’s throat. “But after, right?” he asks.

Jughead nods. “Don’t make a huge deal out of it Andrews, we’re not going steady.” 

“Right.” Archie pushes himself off the lockers and heads back to the gym. He definitely does not think about Jughead promising him other things he’d be into. 

The game that night is good, they win.

There’s a lot of huddling and passing on plays, but Archie is just in it to get busted. He follows Reggie and Coach’s orders, lets the calm of that ground him, and gets joy in being tackled again and again. His teammates might accuse him of hogging the ball and going long too much.

Regardless, Archie hits the showers with everyone else and lets the hot water glide off his body, droplets gathering in the crooks and planes of his body, and falling into the drain. 

Archie feels rejuvenated after, feels like a human being after. He walks to his truck, thanking whatever deity is out there that it was a home game. 

The truck rumbles and rocks underneath him as he drives home, the movements familiar, but Archie doesn’t remember the full ride home. Whatever it is, whatever is haunting Archie, is getting worse.

He finally gets home and throws his backpack in the corner of the living room and raids the fridge. His dad is out of town, settling some deal with his mom. There’s forty bucks on the counter for pizza, but Archie doesn’t feel like calling it in. Maybe tomorrow when desperation has struck.

Archie pulls out some leftovers, heats them up and numbly eats a too hot and too cold pasta with sauce. He leaves the container out, unrinsed, and wonders if he’ll even do anything about it. Archie is suddenly bone tired. 

The ups and downs of the day finally reach him. He trods up the stairs and slumps onto his bed, weakly toeing off his shoes. He sighs, restless again. He won’t be able to sleep without something pressing something other than the mattress into his body.

He looks for the ace bandage from last night, but it’s rolled up, stuck to itself, and Archie doesn’t want to mess with that right now. His eye catches the closet, open and in shambles. His ties. Right. With a sudden burst of energy, Archie gets off the bed and pulls out the least favorite of the ties, and brings it back to his bed. It’s not going to fit around his chest, not in the way that will keep Archie calm. He doesn’t want to wrap the tie around his neck and choke either. Archie bites his lip and wraps his wrist, once, twice, and then slides the tie through the posts of the bed frame. He then clumsily wraps his other wrist and ties a knot using his teeth. He tugs, and the bed frame shifts a little, because it came from the department store, and not anywhere fancy, but the knot stays, even if it’s a little tight. 

It’s not exactly what Archie wanted, but it works. He scoots back to lie on his belly, face first on the pillow. He then rolls over, crossing his arms above him. 

He’s close to sleep, or at least, the buzzing in his head has faded, when he hears it: the front door opens. 

“It’s me!” Jughead shouts.

“Fuck,” Archie whispers. He had forgotten Jughead was coming over. Archie immediately scrambles to let himself free, not listening to the rambling of Jughead’s monologue, coming closer and closer up the stairs. 

“I’ll probably sleep over,” Jughead says, rounding the corner, and Archie is frozen like a rabbit under a dog’s gaze, because all he’s done is tighten the knot somehow, and Jughead is standing in the doorway, looking down at his phone.

Archie’s heart beats, once, twice, then Jughead finally looks up from his cell, and immediately drops it, along with his jaw. “Jesus,” Jughead says, blushing, not looking directly at Archie. 

“I’m not naked, Jughead,” Archie snaps. Archie, despite his claim, is blushing too.

“Is there someone here?” Jughead asks, looking down the hallway. “Was someone here?” He slowly enters the room like Archie is a ticking time bomb. 

Archie feels mad enough to be one. 

“No,” he says. It may come out more sulky than he intended. He tugs again at the tie, but it tightens further, cutting off his circulation. 

Jughead frowns heavily, shrugging off his backpack and steps purposefully into the bedroom. “Your hands are turning purple, idiot,” he says, leaning over Archie’s head to undo the knot in the tie. Archie doesn’t look at the line of flesh that peeks out from the edge of Jughead’s shirt. He may follow the sway of Jughead’s body, he may relish the touches from nimble fingers on his numbing hands, but he doesn’t look at Jughead’s stomach. When blood rushes back into his arms, Archie yanks his hands to his body, sitting up on his bed and rubbing his wrists. Jughead stands there at the edge of the bed. The offending tie hangs loose in his hand. 

“What are you doing, Archie?” Jughead asks. 

Archie sighs, and pulls his knees up to his chin. Maybe if he curls into a tiny ball Jughead will leave and never mention this again.

Jughead sits on the bed. “Were you,” he squints at Archie, “trying to self bondage?”

“Is that what they call it?” Archie says into his knees. 

“So,” and there’s a pause that’s thick with unsaid words, “how long has this been going on?”

Archie still doesn’t have the guts to look up. “Couple of days.”

“Okay,” Jughead says, sounding lost, and Archie hates it. “And you obviously researched --” he sighs. “You have no idea what you’re doing,” Jughead concludes.

Archie says nothing. He looks up from his knees, though, and sees that Jughead is deep in thought, running the tie through his fingers.

“Can I ask why?”

Archie thinks for a minute, wondering how to voice what he’s going through. How to say that he’s tired of holding himself up, how being in pain makes his mind focus on something that’s not his problems, for once. 

“It makes me…” He licks his lip, “less anxious.”

Jughead nods. “Okay.” He looks up. “This is what we’re going to do,” he says, and leave it to Jughead to immediately have a plan. “I’m going to research this stuff for you, and you don’t do anything stupid, like this,” he says, holding up the tie.

“Jughead,” Archie starts, throat closing, “that’s a little personal,” he finishes. 

“It’s a matter of safety, Arch,” Jug says. “What if it wasn’t me that walked in. What if something caught fire.” His pale eyes bore into Archie’s. “You can’t do this they way you’ve been doing it. You need someone else.”

Archie’s chest tightens. He wants to ask, “Why you?” but he’s afraid that would give too much away. Instead he stares helplessly at Jughead. 

“What now?” Archie asks. 

“I was promised a Mario Kart throw down,” Jug says forgivingly. “And maybe some pizza rolls your fridge is always stocked with,” he adds.

Archie gets up, and starts to head out of the room. He stops at the doorway. “Is that,” his breath catches, shocked at his own gall: “Is that an order?”

His back is to Jughead, so he doesn’t know what Jug is thinking, even if he’s been hard to read lately. The silence stretches on for so long, Archie begins to walk out of the room. He’s going to pretend this never happened, just like everything else in his life. 

“Yes,” Jughead says.

Archie feels like the whole world has shifted back to where it used to be. It’s dizzyingly wonderful.

 

Mario Kart and pizza rolls get them back on an even keel, even though the dynamic has been shifted greatly. They curse each other and punch each other’s shoulder and burn their tongues on the lava hot innards of the pizza rolls. It feels natural.

Archie pulls out the blow up mattress and pumps it full of air while Jughead has a round against the computer. “Too easy,” he complains once the loud hum of the pump stops. 

“You’re just used to me winning all the time,” Archie says, looking up from sealing the mattress. 

Jughead makes a face at him, rolling his eyes. “You want to see the scoreboards, Arch?”

Archie huffs a laugh. “I don’t need to,” he says, “I can remember the last two rounds.”

Jughead smiles, and for a minute it all seems normal and wholesome, two boys egging each other on about video games, pepperoni on their breath. 

“Bed time?” Archie asks.

“Yeah, it’s three fifteen,” Jughead yawns. 

Archie goes down the hallway to grab a pillow and sheets for Jughead, and comes back to Jug already laying on the mattress. “Here,” Archie says, dropping his armful onto Jughead. 

Jug splutters for a bit then recovers, kicking out the sheets and tucking the pillow under his head.

Archie pulls his shirt off, and can feel Jughead’s eyes on the bruises, self made and not, but Jughead stays silent. Archie walks over to his bed and gets in, pointedly not looking at Jughead. He’s still so unsure of what’s going on between them. Maybe it was a fluke, Jug ordering him to do something. 

He shifts restlessly in his bed, needing the hold of something else, needing the tightness of the tie or the ace bandage still on his bedroom floor. His skin feels like it’s crawling. Archie purposefully rolls himself into a burrito blanket, but the sheets are still too loose, and Archie blows out a frustrated huff of air.

“Archie,” Jughead says, sitting up. He looks back at Archie who is pinned by his own design. “Turn off the lamp and go to sleep,” he says calmly. His face is blank, but his eyes watch as Archie shuffles over to the side of the bed to turn the light off. Jughead’s shadowy shape doesn’t move as Archie moves back to his pillow, Jughead still watching him.

Archie remembers closing his eyes, but doesn’t remember falling asleep.

When he wakes up, Jughead is gone. Archie frowns, but sees Jug’s shoes still sitting askew at the end of the mattress, so Archie surmises that Jughead is downstairs.

Archie shucks on a shirt and goes downstairs, Jughead at the kitchen table, back to Archie, coffee in hand and laptop in front of him 

“Morning,” Archie says, heading towards the fridge. He sees the oven clock telling him it’s one in the afternoon. “Sort of,” he amends.

Jughead hums, but doesn’t say anything else, too absorbed in his laptop. 

“Did you eat yet?” Archie asks, and of course that gets a reply.

“No, you’re out of Eggos,” Jughead says.

Archie rolls his eyes and opens the fridge. “You say this like you don’t know how to cook.” He pulls out the eggs.

Jughead shrugs, noncommittal. “I can fry an egg,” he says. Archie waits for Jughead to get up from his computer and do just that, but nothing happens.

“You wanna fry these?” Archie asks.

“Nope.” He shoots Archie a strange look. “I’d like a poached egg sandwich, please.”

Archie scowls. “I’m not making you a fucking sandwich.”

A corner of Jug’s lips curl up. “Okay, I’ll make it.” He gets up, making the chair groan against the floor. He looks strangely pleased about it, and Archie would chalk it up to food being imminent but he knows Jughead’s hungry look. This is something different. 

Archie’s eyebrows close in on each other, making a crease in his forehead. “Was this a test?”

Jughead smiles at him before pulling out a pan and filling it with water. “Sort of,” he says. 

“And I passed?” What the hell was going on?

“There wasn’t a right or wrong answer,” Jughead replies, turning the gas stove on. He looks over at Archie. “I want to know your limits,” he says, before turning back to the counter, reaching for the tomatoes in the fruit bowl. 

“You could just ask me,” Archie says, crossing his arms.

“I will,” Jughead says, firm. “I need to know you’re not a pushover,” he says after a minute of Archie glaring at his back. 

“You know I’m not, and it’s not pushover behavior to make someone a sandwich,” Archie says, making his way around the counter. 

Jughead pulls a knife out of the drawer, and Archie feels warm at his knowing all the ins and outs of the house. He looks up, amused. “I might need a minute to dissect that statement.” He slices through the tomato, having to press a bit, the knife dull. Then pauses at the second slice. “Do you mean feminism?” he looks a little baffled. It’s a good look, Archie decides.

“You don’t tell people to make them sandwiches and expect something.” Archie refuses to be barefoot in the kitchen, and frankly, he’s appalled at Jughead’s attitude.

Jughead looks like he wants to laugh but doesn’t. “That’s not really the founding rock of the third wave,” he says.

Archie rolls his eyes. “Whatever. It was how you asked. You don’t do that with Betty, right?”

“God, no,” Jughead says immediately. His eyes dart around, wide, like Betty might pop out and accuse Jughead of being an idiot. 

“Good,” Archie says. He feels deflated, all the anger knocked out of him suddenly. Betty. What was happening between Jughead and Archie, it wasn’t a relationship beyond friendship, right? It was just a friend helping another out. 

Jughead didn’t seem bothered by the reminder of his girlfriend, and Jughead’s sense of ethics were stronger than his own. They must be okay. 

Jughead keeps making his breakfast, and Archie watches him. “Would you like one?” Jughead asks, cracking open an egg into the water. 

“If you don’t mind,” Archie says, and Jug puts in three more in the pan. 

“So,” Jughead says, “I’ve been researching. And I think that there’s a lot of ground to cover. But we’re going to start off with commands.” Jughead reaches for the bread and pops four slices in the toaster before hitting the lever. 

“What if I don’t want to?” Archie asks, heartbeat up at the thought of Jughead taking control. He makes it look so easy.

“You say no,” Jughead says. “Like you did with breakfast.” He makes a grand gesture at the food that he’s preparing. “I’m not going to be mad if you say no.”

“But what if you really want me to do it, whatever it is,” Archie says. “Will you,” and he can’t believe he’s about to say this, “punish me?” He feels his face flush.

Jughead frowns. “I guess I have to,” he says. Jughead looks unnerved, like he hadn’t thought of that possibility.

Archie feels sick at this. “I’m not forcing you,” he says weakly.

Jughead looks at him, the flat line of his lips pursed. “I’m doing this because you need it,” Jughead says, “And I don’t want you to run to some maniac that doesn’t get you like I do.” He pulls a spoon out of a drawer, and points it at Archie. “You’re not forcing me,” he says with finality. Then he carefully scoops out the eggs and lays them on napkins as the toast pops up, ready.

“Jughead,” Archie starts, ready to argue, but Jug holds up a hand. 

“I’m going to give you an order now,” he says.

Archie’s eyes widen, his spine straightens. 

“Go sit at the table and wait, and don’t talk til I get there. Think about what you want from this, and then you’re going to tell me.” Jughead looks serious, but not mad. Almost like he’s asking for Archie to pass him the salt.

Archie swallows and sits at the table, opposite of Jughead’s computer. He knows what he wants. He wants to not think. He wants to let go. This, whatever this is, is a means to an end. But he’s not sure how to articulate that to Jug.

Jughead plates the sandwiches and sets one in front of Archie, steam still rising off of the eggs, toast warm to the touch. “Coffee?” Jughead asks, moving the computer to the empty space where Archie’s mom sat and setting his own plate down. 

Archie nods. 

Jughead picks his own mug up and goes over to the coffee pot, and Archie can hear the sounds of him pouring and then walking back to the table.

The mug of coffee is placed before him, and Archie waits for Jughead to sit down. 

“Okay,” Jughead says, taking a huge bite of his sandwich, “I was thinking we could do some scenes.” It comes out garbled.

“Scenes?” Archie asks. He picks his own food up and digs in.

Jughead bites his lip after swallowing. “Set periods of time where I tell you to do things, giving you orders, that kind of thing,” he says. 

“Okay,” Archie says.

“I’m not going to initiate any scenes at school,” Jughead continues, one hand scrolling through a document on his computer. Archie desperately wants to see what Jughead wrote, but refrains. “You already have a busy schedule with the after school activities,” and he takes another bite. “So we’ll do this on the weekends.”

“Like now,” Archie says, starting to think about it. About Jughead taking him upstairs and tying him down and telling him what to do.

“I need to set a few more ground rules,” Jughead says.

Archie jams his sandwich in his mouth and chews. 

“When it’s not the weekend, I won’t approach you about this. When it is the weekend, we will decide on a time together.”

“Got it,” Archie says after swallowing. 

“Now, what is it you want from this, Arch?” Jughead asks, looking at him, one hand poised over the keyboard, and one still wrapped around the sandwich. 

Archie clears his throat. Here goes nothing. “I just want everything to not be on me for a minute,” he says. “I don’t want to worry about school, or my family, or anything, I feel like, there’s so much noise in my head, and when I’m in pain, it goes away, it’s silent for once.”

Jughead just looks at him, saying nothing. 

“I just need you to tell me what to do, give me that silence.”

Jughead’s lips shift into a pout, and Archie watches as Jug thinks it over. He’s got the parameters, but this is the real heart of the matter: can Jughead tell Archie what to do, and when to do it, can he go against his better instinct and inflict pain? Archie looks down at his plate and hopes Jughead can make a decision. He doesn’t want him to feel forced or to be freaked out. 

But Archie is surprised when Jug just says, “Okay,” and closes his laptop and stuffs the rest of his sandwich in his mouth. “Hurry up and finish your breakfast, I’ve got ideas.”

Archie tries not to blush furiously, and digs into his egg and tomato sandwich instead. 

Once Archie is done, crumbs on the plate and grounds in his cup, Jughead snatches all the dishes and puts them in the sink. “Upstairs?” he asks, and Archie nods, and walks up the steps, trying his best not to feel like this trip is significant.

Archie stands in his room, not knowing what to do with himself, looking around at the mess in the room. He aimlessly kicks at the blow up mattress, pushing it to the side.

He hears Jughead coming up the stairs behind him, and Archie stands still, frozen at the possibilities. 

“Okay,” Jughead says, and there’s the click of the door shutting. “There’s a system of red, yellow, and green. Red means stop, yellow means slow down, and green means keep going. Understand?”

Archie is still facing the window, still shuttered from last night. “Yes,” he says.

“Tell me,” Jughead says.

Archie swallows, nervous that this is happening, this is real. “Red, stop; yellow, slow down; green, keep going.”

“Good,” Jughead says, and Archie sighs. Then, “On your knees.” Jughead sounds casual, unaffected by what he’s doing, and for all Archie knows, that’s true. 

But to Archie it feels like his whole world has shifted, pulled back into focus, and it feels right. He slowly gets to his knees, bare feet tucked under him, arms loose at his side. 

“Take off your shirt,” Jughead says, and Archie complies.

“Hands behind your back,” Jughead says.

Archie clasps his hands behind him, then something skin warm and soft slides around his wrists. The tie. The tie from last night that Archie used to tie himself with. Jughead had kept it in his pocket. Maybe slept with it there. Archie shivers, feeling a flush over his body. He tilts his head back and sees the top of Jughead’s hair, dark and wavy. Archie desperately wants to see Jughead’s face, see what he’s thinking. A hand guides Archie’s head back to where it was, fingers running through short hair at his nape. 

Archie swallows.

Jughead goes back to knotting the necktie at Archie’s wrists, and there’s a tightness to it, but it still feels loose enough Archie could get out of it. There’s a few tugs, then Jughead runs two fingers under the tie, checking to see if it’s right. The fingers on the inside of his wrists light Archie’s skin up, he feels like he can sense everything, but then Jughead’s hand leaves, and Archie struggles in his restraints. 

“Stay still,” Jughead says, and Archie stops, letting his arms go lax. “What color are you, Archie?” he asks, and for a second, Archie forgets what Jughead is talking about. “Archie, what color?” Jughead snaps.

“Green,” Archie says. “I’m green.” His heart is racing. He had forgotten the rules already. Jughead was going to stop this, he was going to stop everything -

“Archie,” Jughead says, cutting into the whirlwind of Archie’s thoughts, “I’m going to cover your eyes.”

Archie says nothing. Even though Jughead didn’t say he couldn’t talk, it feels like he shouldn’t. 

Jughead walks over to the closet and pulls out a second tie, blue, and shows Archie. Archie looks up, at Jughead, wondering if he’s supposed to agree, or ask for another color tie, or what. But Jughead simply wraps it around Archie’s head and knots that too. 

It’s not completely dark, there’s still light coming through the top and bottom, but mostly it’s shadows, dark movements against light where Jughead has been. Archie feels his muscles loosen in response. He’s not supposed to worry about anything; Jughead has it -- has him -- under control. 

There’s a few rustling noises, like something coming out of a plastic bag, and Archie’s head turns at the sound. Jughead laughs, and Archie snaps back to his original position. “Curious?” Jughead asks, playful tones in his voice. 

Archie nods. 

“You’ll figure it out,” Jughead says, and then there’s a dull scrape against the side of his spine, firmly pressing into his muscles, down to the small of his back. It’s difficult with Archie’s hands in the way, but Archie bends into the sensation, creating a gap between his hands and his back. 

Archie gasps. There’s a press of something against his back, like sticks, and then ever so gently, Jughead runs the object back up the same path. Then he slides it over to the other side of Archie’s spine and repeats the action. Down, scraping hard, and then the gentle slide back up. 

Jughead does this for the entirety of Archie’s back, and Archie feels like his back is raw, his shoulders must be red, his face must be red too. He realizes after a few gasping breaths that he’s shaking. 

“What color, Arch?” Jughead asks, low. 

“Green,” Archie says, feeling like it’s not even him saying it, it’s someone else. 

“Good,” Jughead says, and Archie almost sobs at the praise. 

There’s steps out of the room and Archie stiffens, all the fear coming back in, but then Jughead’s hand is at his neck again. “I’m going to the bathroom, I’m not leaving you.”

Archie nods, and hears Jughead making his way out of the room and to the bathroom, and then coming back. He tilts his head trying to listen to exactly what Jughead is doing, but gasps in shock when something wet and cold slaps his back. 

Archie hunches, stumbles face first onto the floor in over simulation and shakes, ass in the air, clothed but exposed.

“Archie!” Jughead says, grabbing the cloth off of Archie’s back and grabbing his shoulders, pulling him back up. Jughead’s finger’s scramble to untie the knots at Archie’s wrists. 

“No!” Archie shouts. “Green! Green!”

Jughead pauses in his actions. “I’m gonna slow it down, okay?” Archie thinks he feels Jughead’s fingers tremble in the knots of the tie. Large hands guide him to sit up, legs crossed underneath him. 

The cold, wet thing - a towel, Archie thinks - drips onto his shoulders, gently laying on his back. He takes a few steadying breaths as Jughead gently runs the towel up and down Archie’s back, the same path he had taken earlier. 

“Sorry,” Jughead says, setting the towel down and smoothing all the water off of Archie’s back. “I didn’t think you’d react like that.”

“It was just, intense,” Archie says quietly.

“Good intense, or bad intense?” Jughead asks.

“Good,” Archie says. He feels embarrassed, and squirms at Jughead’s touch.

“Okay, one more thing then, I’ll, um, warn you.”

“Don’t,” Archie says. “I’m in a better position.”

Jughead sighs, and Archie can’t tell without looking if it’s a sigh of derision, but Jughead’s hands leave Archie’s back and there’s a rustling sound again. Jughead must be reaching for his last prop, or idea or whatever. 

Archie spine straightens in response. There’s a long wait filled with silence, then the softest brush of something along his nape, slowly going down his spine, over his tied hands and back up his arms. Archie shivers, hunches in on himself.

“Sit up straight,” Jughead says, and Archie jerks up, a dizzying move. “Easy,” Jug responds, still softly dragging the tool up over Archie’s shoulders to his neck. A shadow moves in front of Archie and Jughead stands before him. Archie can only see the shape of his movements. Jughead sits before him, and they both breath for a moment. Archie swallows, and he doesn’t know what Jughead has planned. The soft, feathery thing returns, and Archie can only guess it’s a brush of some kind that Jughead found in the kitchen. It returns to his neck, makes its way up to his lips, and Archie can feel the bristles as they bend. 

Jughead traces his face gently with the brush, makes his way down Archie’s neck again, and then slowly down Archie’s chest, all the way down to his stomach. Archie twitches, flexes and swallows. Jughead pauses in his journey, and now more than anything, Archie wants to see what Jughead looks like, what he’s thinking. Archie jerks his hands up to take the tie off his head but all it does is pull at the tie at his wrists.

The brush drags up Archie’s chest again and over his pecs and up to his shoulders. It stutters over the wet skin, and Jughead starts to paint random designs on his chest with the drying water, skin-warm now. Archie can feel himself drifting at the motions, letting himself go lax. Jughead has him, isn’t going to let anything happen to him. He’s safe.

“Archie?” Jughead asks. 

Archie feels like he’s supposed to answer, but doesn’t want to, not when he feels this good. 

“Archie, what’s your color?”

Archie swallows. “Green,” he says, but he thinks it comes out slurred. 

“You sure about that, or are you just repeating the word green?”

“No, I’m good,” Archie says. He wants to say that he feels like those bubbles in champagne, or like he’s floating on the river, easy and warm. 

“Close your eyes,” Jughead says. Archie does, and Jughead lifts the tie from Archie’s eyes, the light getting brighter, before he says, “Okay open them.”

Archie does, and all he sees is Jughead’s outline for a second, but then he comes into focus, kneeling in front of Archie, running his eyes over Archie’s form. 

“Your pupils are huge,” Jughead says, a smile at the edge of his lips. He blinks slowly, then looks at Archie, his head tilted. “You did good, Arch.”

“You too,” Archie says. He still feels like he’s floating, and exhales a shaky sigh. 

Jughead smiles, and shuffles over to behind Archie to release his hands. Archie, when he feels the satin of the tie slip off his wrists, brings them up to his face, groaning at the ache in his shoulders. “Fuck,” he says, and Jughead startles behind him. 

“What is it?” he asks.

“Just, been in the same position for a while,” he says, letting his arms hang uselessly at his sides. 

“Get on the bed, face down,” Jughead says, and it sounds like an order, and Archie limply obeys. He grunts as his body makes contact with the pillows and then suddenly Jughead is straddling him and has his hands on Archie’s shoulders. 

“Okay?” Jughead asks as he starts to dig his thumbs into the meat of Archie’s scapula. 

“Yeah,” Archie says, although it sounds muffled, so he turns his face to the side and repeats himself.

Jughead works on Archie’s shoulders for a few minutes before running his hands up and down Archie’s back and gently pulling on the skin in different directions. He hums at different spots, and gets off of Archie’s ass.

“Stay still, I’m gonna grab the neosporin.”

“Is it bad?” Archie asks, already trying to twist and look down his back.

“I said stay still,” Jughead says, and Archie slumps back onto the bed. A minute later Jughead is back. “And it’s not bad, there’s some places where I pressed too hard and it’s really red.”

“Yeah,” Archie says, brow furrowed, “what was that thing?”

“The spaghetti spoon,” Jughead replies, and there’s cold gel squirting onto Archie’s back. 

Archie jerks. “The what?” he asks, then, “That’s cold.”

“The spaghetti spoon,” Jughead says, like Archie is slow. He hates that. Jughead must warm up the neosporin though, because there’s no chill to the gel that’s being put on his back. 

“We eat with that,” Archie protests. 

“Too late,” Jughead says, sounding smug, but Archie’s too tired to check. He can feel his breath evening out, his eyelids getting heavier. Jughead’s hands are still gently rubbing gel on certain spots, and Archie goes to sleep feeling like, for once, everything’s going to be okay. 

When Archie wakes up, Jughead is sleeping on the blow up mattress. Archie gets up and pads over to the bathroom. He looks at himself in the mirror, opening the cabinet doors to angle to look at his back. It’s bloomed in pink, the bruises from the past couple of days have started to turn purple, and his back is still tacky from the amount of neosporin that Jughead applied. 

“It feel okay?” Jughead asks at the doorway, startling Archie.

“Yeah, I was just checking it out.” He leans in again to look in the mirrors, an infinite amount of reflections of his pink back. 

“Anything hurt?” 

Archie stops looking at himself to look at Jughead. He’s worried, the corners of his mouth pulled down slightly, the line of his lips flat. 

“No,” Archie replies. “I’m okay.” He looks at Jughead, who looks disbelieving. “I’m better than okay,” he continues. He looks at Jughead’s feet, bites his lip. “I feel like I can breathe,” Archie tells him.

“Hey,” Jughead says, coming up into Archie’s space. He reaches out and grabs Archie’s shoulder and squeezes. “Next weekend, right?” 

“Right.” Archie doesn’t know how to say that he’s unsure that he’ll make it to next weekend. But there’s no time to practice this, not on the weekdays. He feels his chest starting to tighten again. “Pizza?” he asks, pushing past a quizzical Jughead to the hallway. 

He’s almost to the stairs when Jughead stops him. “Archie,” he says, his tone low. 

Archie stops and sighs, waits for the axe to fall. 

And waits.

“Get the pizza from Joey Roma’s, not that other place.”

Archie doesn’t know whether to sigh in relief or stiffen up in dismay. He goes down the stairs and orders pizza, alone.

 

Jughead leaves after the food. 

Archie thinks it’s less that Jughead has homework, and more that he doesn’t want to sit in the mess they made. Archie doesn’t blame him. Sunday passes by too quickly, and his dad gets home, tired but happy.

Monday rolls in, and when Archie gets to school he feels brittle, like he’s liable to break himself if he doesn’t move right. The scratches from Jughead are still there, faint and pink, and Archie’s so thankful he doesn’t have to move into awkward positions to press the lines on his back for them to flare up in sweet pain. 

English goes by painfully slow, and Trig is somewhat better, but then Archie remembers that lunch is coming up next, and that means dealing with Jughead.

Archie wonders if Jughead has told Betty yet, if she’s going to judge him for his needs. Archie knows as soon as the thought happens that it’s ridiculous, there’s no way that Betty would ever judge him for that, but the thought still lingers. 

It’s only four hours into school, and Archie’s need is already rising. 

After he grabs his tray and sets it down at their usual table he waits for Jughead to bring their weekend tryst up slyly, or for Betty to lean over and whisper furiously at him. Neither of those things happen though, and it leaves Archie feeling even more unsettled. Kevin and Veronica take over the conversation while Betty and Jughead talk quietly to each other. Archie tries to chime in, trying to remember what it was like to not need Jughead giving him orders. It works for a while.

It works until Thursday.

Thursday after school Archie gets the tie out again. It’s crumpled and limp from it’s last use, but Archie doesn’t care about the shape it’s in. He needs to get back to normal, needs to get back to his baseline, and if he has to crawl out of this hole by himself, than so be it.

Archie uses the tie to wrap around the posts on his headboard and then wraps it around his wrists, pulling the knot closed with his teeth.

It’s enough to quiet him, but not enough for the emptiness he’s looking for, not enough for sleep. Archie struggles in the grips of his own doing, feels the tie becoming tighter and tighter and he pulls and pulls, chasing that feeling of numbing pain. He can’t feel his hands after a minute of this, and looks up and sees them purpled. 

“Fuck,” Archie whispers. He can’t call his dad into the room. “Hey Siri,” he calls, and his phone, on the nightstand, dings in reply. Archie sighs in relief. “Call Jughead,” he says.

“Calling Jughead Jones,” Siri replies, and the tinny sound of a phone ringing happens. He hears Jughead pick up, and say something, but Archie can’t decipher any words.

“Jughead I need you to come to my house. Please?” He doesn’t want to say it’s an emergency, but it sort of is. “My hands are numb,” he says at a volume he’s uncomfortable with, making sure that Jughead can hear, but that his dad won’t burst into his room in panic.

He can hear cursing, and Archie relaxes, knowing that Jughead will be here soon. Jughead is still talking, probably telling Archie that he’s grade A prime moron, but it sounds rushed, so Archie figures he needs to try to get out of the tie.

He moves up the bed using his back, his arms starting to go numb too, fingers clumsy with blood. He starts to bite at the knot, trying to loosen it, to pull something out, but it only seems to make it worse. 

Archie wants to cry. Here he is, hands tied to the bed, and it’s not getting him any relief. He can still hear the buzzing in his head, a thousand words that won’t stop at his immolation of self. He’s shaking, mouth still working at the knot when Jughead stops talking. Archie stares at the phone for what feels like ten minutes before he hears the front door slam open. 

There’s the muffled sound of Jughead giving some breathless excuse to Archie’s dad, and then furiously running up the steps.

His door open and shuts, and Archie goes still under Jughead’s glare.

Jughead produces a knife from somewhere, and Archie has questions, but none seem to get through because all he can do now is gasp in pain as Jughead cuts the bonds off and blood rushes back into his hands and arms. 

“You fucking idiot,” Jughead hisses. Archie rolls onto his side, grasping his wrists loosely as they prick and tingle while blood comes back. “What the hell were you thinking?” He flips the knife shut and jams it into his back pocket.

“I wasn’t!” Archie says, thumping his head back on the pillow. “I haven’t been able to think for the whole week, okay? I didn’t want to tell you because,” Archie pauses. There’s a myriad of reasons that Archie didn’t want to tell Jughead. Things Jughead shouldn’t have to hear. Wouldn’t want to hear. 

“Because?” Jughead asks, crossing his arms and looking altogether like an angry mother. 

“Because you don’t need me,” Archie says, the truth but not all of the truth. “Not like I need you.”

Jughead sighs, and it’s like his strings have been cut because he slumps on the floor, back to the bed. “Archie,” he says. His head lolls back onto the mattress and he stares at the ceiling for a moment. 

Archie desperately wants to stick his fingers into Jughead’s black hair, to tip his hat onto the floor and kiss that wide mouth. He does nothing.

Jughead looks at him, considering. “You need more than what I’m giving you,” he surmises. 

Archie shrugs. “It’s not you, you’re great, it’s me.” It sounds like they’re breaking up. Archie jolts his head up, eyes wide, to make sure that Jughead understands. He clears his throat, aching suddenly. “I need you,” Archie repeats.

Jughead frowns a little. Shifts up from his slouch on the floor and puts his arm on the bed next to Archie’s leg. “What we did last time didn’t work?”

“It worked,” Archie says, reaching out to Jughead, then thinking better of it.

“It wasn’t enough,” Jughead finishes.

Archie clears his throat. He looks down at his now pink hands. “I think I needed more,” he whispers.

Jughead gets up. “More how?” He sits on the bed, putting them on even ground. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you need.”

Archie feels his chest tighten. “I want you to hurt me,” he says, eyes closed. So he won’t see Jughead leave. Or what Jughead’s expression of disgust looks like. “I want you to do more than that, I want you to take control, I want you to…” He opens his eyes, the light stinging his eyes. “Jughead, I want you.”

“You want me…” Jughead leads.

Archie shakes his head, feels the tell tale heat in his face. “I want you.” He chances to look at Jug, and Jughead looks completely confused.

A part of Archie loves that, loves that he can still get one over on Jughead, but, how could Jughead not know that Archie wants him? Needs him in a way that he can’t explain.

“Archie…” Jughead says, biting his lip. “You know I…” he shakes his head. “What we’re doing, I’m doing because you need me to do it.” He holds his hands up in the air. “I’m okay doing it, but I don’t know what you need, Archie. You have to say it.”

Archie grits his teeth, suddenly angry. “Goddammit Juggie!” he says. He blushes furiously and stands up, turns his back on Jughead. “I can’t do this and not… have feelings.” He closes his eyes. “Last time was great, but I’m still hiding this part of me that wants you.” He turns and looks at an increasingly baffled Jughead. 

“You like me?” Jughead asks, almost a squeak.

Archie throws his hands up in frustration. “Yes, Jones, I like you.” 

 

Jughead gets up from the bed. “Archie,” he starts, and Archie realizes that Jughead Jones the Third for _once_ doesn’t know what to say. 

“Just get out,” Archie says, deflated. 

Jughead shakes his head, his mouth warped in consternation. “No, Archie we have to talk about this.”

“We really don’t,” Archie counters. “Go home, go to Betty, I don’t need…” _you_ , he can’t say. _I don’t need you._ He turns his back to Jughead, to the door, facing his bed and the cut tie lying on his pillow. “I’ll figure this out without you. I just,” he bites his lip and turns around. “I need space.”

Jughead nods jerkily, and goes to the door. “See you tomorrow, Arch,” he says, not turning, and the semblance of normalcy gives Archie comfort.

 

Archie desperately wants to skip school on the following day, but he musters up enough courage to go. It’s just another Friday. 

He tries to avoid everyone, but much to his chagrin it doesn’t work. Jughead sends him sharp looks. Veronica has a pinched face, and Betty looks worried. It’s obvious that he can’t hide from his friends, but he can’t really tell them what’s going on, either. Can’t tell them that he’s in love with Jughead, that he needs him in a way that no one else can fill. Well, maybe. Archie doesn’t know of any Riverdale clubs that would fill his particular needs, but maybe two towns over? 

The very idea of having someone other than Jughead control him churns his stomach, but if this is going to continue, he’s going to have to go elsewhere. He’s suddenly grateful for having his own laptop, and not having to look this stuff up on a shared computer at home.

There’s no game this weekend, but there’s still practice, so Archie throws himself into it as hard as he can. He’s refreshing himself at the bench when he spies Betty and Jughead talking, heads together, holding hands. Archie swallows. It’s not any of his business. 

Of course he still wonders, he’s only human, if Jughead has told Betty about what Archie said, about what Archie made Jughead do.

Archie can feel the tightness in his chest gripping him again, and he pulls on his helmet and tries to shove away the thought of Jughead and Betty. He’s adding it to the pile of other things he’s refusing to talk about, and the door is getting harder to close on it.

 

When practice is over, Archie hits the showers with the team and tries to let his worries wash away with the soap. But it doesn’t matter how much he scrubs, or how hot the water gets, Archie can’t get anything out of his head. 

One by one the boys on the team leave, darting glances at Archie still standing under the spray. He knows it looks weird. He should move. Get dry, put on clothes, and go home to an empty house again. He wonders how long the divorce is going to go on.

He stands there long enough that the lights go off.

He sighs and turns off the water and feels around for his towel, puts on his clothes. He feels zombie-like as he shuffles to his truck, gym bag in tow. The ride to his house is sluggish, and seems interminably longer than it usually does. 

He pulls up to his street where he sees a small light at the doorstep. Curious, he parks the car, only to see that the light is revealing Jughead’s face, half in shadow still. 

Archie groans, thumps his head against the well worn leather of the steering wheel. He wasn’t planning on having this conversation until a few weeks had passed. He knows Jughead has seen the truck pull up, the light from his phone now shut off. Jughead’s a small, hunched figure in darkness on his doorstep.

Archie decides that he’s going to play it cool. Sure, he’s in love with Jughead, but so what? He’s also wound up so tight he can hardly think, but Jughead doesn’t have to know that. The sad truth comes to Archie right after that: Jughead knows. He knows both of those things, knows what Archie needs to let the binding unwind. 

He gets out of the truck after four forevers, and pulls out his backpack and gym bag too. 

The sensor light comes on, and it feels like a spotlight.

 

“Hey,” he says as he reaches the stoop, stopping.

“Hey,” Jughead answers. He stands up. 

“What’s up?” Archie asks, side stepping Jughead to get to the door. Jughead has a key, Archie doesn’t know why he didn’t just go in.

“We need to talk,” Jughead says, low and determined.

Archie groans. “Do we really need to have this conversation again?”

“No, I’ve already heard you out, now you’re gonna listen to me.” Jughead crosses his arms, slipping in behind Archie. 

Archie shuts the door. 

“I love you, Archie Andrews.”

Archie blinks. He feels full of air, full of a feeling he can’t describe, the kind that bursts under too much pressure. “What,” he says, a statement and not a question. He turns to face Jughead.

“I’ve loved you for as long as I’ve known what love is,” Jughead continues, like he didn’t stun Archie into silence. 

“But, Betty,” Archie says. 

“I love Betty too,” Jughead says. “We’re friends.”

“So we’re friends?” Archie asks, utterly confused. 

Jughead rolls his eyes and huffs a sigh, and a semblance of normalcy comes into the situation. “Yes, Archie, we’re friends. But we’re more than that now. Archie,” he says, stepping forward in the dark foyer, “I’m _in_ love with you.” 

“I love you too, Juggie,” Archie says softly.

The declarations hang in the air, swirling around them and not landing. It feels too big, too much. 

“You need me,” Jughead says, and Archie starts to feel that old tightness in his chest, that inability to breathe. “And I need you too.”

That makes Archie stops cold. “Jughead, you don’t,” he says, shaking his head. “You don’t have to do this, to help me, if you don’t want it. I’ve never wanted that. I,” he pauses, looks down at his feet, “I only wanted to be able to breathe.”

Jughead uncrosses his arms and steps forward into Archie’s space, grabs his arms looks at him, all seriousness. “You need to stop thinking that the world is always looking down on you, Archie. You can’t go on like this. You’re going to damage your psyche and your body if you do.”

“My first sexual experience is something I can’t even think about without throwing up,” Archie says. “My parents are getting divorced, I’m in love with my used-to-be best friend that I pushed away because someone was using me.”

Jughead slowly blinks. “Look, you’re going to need a therapist,” he says sagely. “There’s a lot I can’t untangle by ordering you around. But I want to help you through the stuff that I can. I want to do this, Archie, I-” he looks away, clears his throat, “I need this too.”

Archie shakes his head, confused. “Jughead, how can you possibly get anything out of this?”

“I love seeing you come apart,” Jughead says helplessly, like the words are pulled from him. “I love knowing that I did that. That _I’m_ the one you trust enough to do that. It makes me feel powerful, makes me feel alive.” 

Archie reaches out to Jughead, dares to touch his face, tilted and beautiful.

“I didn’t know,” Archie says.

“I didn’t want you to know. Archie, there’s already so much between us that’s unsaid, and when I had you tied up, it felt like,” he shugs ineloquently. “Like I was close to you.”

Archie nods. “I feel like that too,” he says. 

Jughead clears his throat and steps back. “I came here to give you something,” he says, reaching into his messenger bag and pulling out a thick stack of paper. A report?

“What’s this? Homework?” Archie asks, reaching for it. Why Jughead would need help in any type of academics, Archie has no idea, but when he looks at it, there are check boxes. He tilts his head and reads it, “For every item, check yes, no, or maybe,” he says, and then the first bullet point: “bondage, light.” His eyes widen. “Jughead?”

“If we’re going to keep going, you have to fill that out,” he says. He sounds firm and Archie is into it. 

“Okay, but what about Betty?” Archie asks, and Jughead looks like he wants to face palm. 

“Betty and I aren’t together,” Jughead says. “We love each other, as friends. But we were two people trying to find comfort in each other. It worked. But as much as Betty and I love each other, we love other people more.”

Archie points at his chest. “Me?”

Jughead nods. “You.”

Then Archie remembers all the little things Veronica did that made Betty blush. “Ronnie?” he asks, just to be sure.

Jughead taps his index finger to his nose and grins. “Who says you’re another dumb jock,” he says.

“Hey!” Archie says, slightly offended.

Jughead laughs. “I’m joking.” He steps forward and pulls the packet of paper from Archie’s hands and tosses it on the coffee table. He looks serious, his pale eyes emit an emotion that Archie is beginning to understand isn’t Archie-you-dumbass look number fifty four, the kind that Archie hates and loves. He’s beginning to hate it less and less, now. It’s not Jughead saying I’ve figured you out, it’s him saying, I’ve got you, I love you, I _know_ you. 

It makes the tightness in Archie’s chest melt, the worries of what he’s supposed to be, what he’s supposed to do, it’s all gone with Jughead. 

“Jughead,” Archie says quietly, breathing into the small space between them, “can I kiss you?”

Jughead steps impossibly closer, looking strangely unsure, and Archie pulls him in, sliding a hand to the nape of Jughead’s neck. 

“Please?” Archie asks, still waiting for permission.

“Always,” Jughead replies, and tilts his mouth down that one infuriating inch to meet Archie’s. 

Jughead’s lips are soft, but thin, his tongue warm and agile, and his teeth somehow too big. It’s perfect. Archie has always wondered what it would be like, and now that the moment is here, he thinks it’s beyond expectations, because it’s nothing like he imagined it would be. Jughead kisses like he ran their scene: sweet and playful, fierce and intense in turns. 

Archie pulls back after a minute, pressing his hands on Jughead’s chest. “Can we do a scene now?” Archie asks, ready. Beyond ready for his emotions to let loose.

Jughead steps back and bites his lip, already red from Archie’s mouth. “Not until you fill out the paperwork,” he says. “But we can have plain, vanilla sex anytime you want,” he offers, his voice rough. He clears his throat and looks unsure. “If you want,” he amends.

“I do,” Archie says. “Want that, I mean.” He suddenly feels unsure. “You’re okay with that too?”

Jughead walks up and presses his long, lean body against Archie’s, kissing him again. Archie closes his eyes and he puts his arms around Jug’s waist, pulling him in.

“I’m okay with that,” Jughead says after they’ve stopped this time. He takes one of Archie’s hands and leads him towards the stairs, looking back every other step or so, even though they’re still holding hands. They reach the top landing in no time and Jughead rushes into Archie’s room, yanking him along.

Archie laughs, delighted at Jughead’s enthusiasm. 

Then they’re in his room, and Archie and Jughead stand there, looking at each other for a minute. Jughead sits on the bed toeing off his shoes and socks, and Archie follows suit, clumsily taking his sneakers off.

“Did you think it was going to be like this?” Jughead asks when he’s done.

“You imagined it?” Archie says, shocked. He tries to think about Jughead thinking about them, but comes up blank. 

Jughead deflates and rolls his eyes. “Yes, Archie. I’m in love with you, I imagined it.” 

“I’d thought you’d be more, I don’t know, bored, or apathetic.” Archie realizes how that sounds as soon as it leaves his mouth. “I mean,” he waves his hands, searching for the right words under Jughead’s glare. “That you wouldn’t be interested. In me.”

“I’ve been into you for longer than I think I realized what it meant, to be into someone,” Jughead says, blinking. He scoots over on the bed to make room for Archie. Archie sits, Jughead’s thigh pressed against his own. Jughead looks over at him. “We really don’t have to do anything tonight, Arch,” he says, voice soft. “I could beat you in Mario Kart again, if you wanted.”

Archie thinks about it, about the possibility of just hanging with Jughead like it’s old times. He shakes his head. “No, I want this,” he says, grabbing Jughead’s closest hand. He squeezes it. “And I imagined you sucking me off.” He pauses, looks at Jughead’s wide, pale eyes. “A lot,” he finishes.

“Jesus, Arch,” Jughead groans. “You can’t just say that stuff.” He rubs his face with the hand that Archie’s not holding.

“Why not, it’s true.”

Jughead laughs thinly. “Because short refractory period or not, I’d like to wait to come, and not in my pants.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Archie says, teasing.

Jughead looks at him with the side of his eyes. “What else did you imagine?”

Archie smiles. “You fingering me, telling me how good I was doing, that I was yours.”

Jughead moves further in on the mattress, pulling Archie with him. “Yeah?” he asks, his eyes heavy lidded. 

“You tell me something,” Archie says leaning over to Jughead and kissing him, his lips, the soft line of his jaw, his ear. 

Jughead breathes in sharply when Archie reaches his neck, so Archie nuzzles his way down to the crook of Jughead’s shoulder, the tender place where it meets the neck. He sucks there and feels Jughead undulate next to him, wrapping his arms around Archie’s waist and pulling at his shirt. Archie pulls back and whips his shirt off, watches as Jughead fumbles with his before finally getting it off and then laying back, and Archie follows him. 

Chest to chest now, feeling each other’s breath, the movement of their lungs. Archie frames Jughead’s body with his arms and smiles. “You still haven’t told me anything,” he says, and Jughead’s lips quirk into a smile. He reaches up and traces the lines of Archie’s face, somehow looking joyful and somber. 

“Something like this,” he says, thumbing over Archie’s lips. 

“Pillow talk?” Archie asks, purposefully toning his voice not to be teasing. 

Jughead looks to the side. “I like intimacy,” he says quietly, like he’s revealed too much, and Archie moves to kiss him.

“I like this too,” he says, and somehow it feels important. 

Then Jughead smiles into the kiss. “I like blowjobs too,” he says, and shifts underneath Archie. Archie feels the line of Jughead’s cock, and a grunt leaves Archie’s lungs without permission.

Sure, Archie’s been hard for a while, ever since he mentioned blowing Jughead, but to feel the evidence of Jughead’s desire is something else all together. Archie feels his eyes get wide.

Jughead’s hands are at Archie’s waist, feeling the small of Archie’s waist, and Archie’s grasping at the bedsheets, the hat Jughead is always wearing. 

Jughead makes a muffled exclamation; Archie’s still kissing him. Archie lets go, lips feeling full and tender from kissing Jughead. “What?” Archie asks breathlessly.

“Be careful with the hat,” Jughead replies, turning his head to check the hat’s whereabouts.

Archie rolls his eyes and grabs it, shows it to Jughead and puts in on the nightstand. “There,” he says. “Safe and sound.”

Jughead grabs his face suddenly, leaving his waist cold, and yanks him in to kiss more. It’s jumbled and awkward. But Archie feels light, feels tingly, like maybe he can just exist with Jughead. Just be. The kisses slow down, lips and tongues meeting each other, taking the time to explore mouths. It’s a release and Archie sighs into Jughead’s mouth, pulling up, despite Jug’s protests.

Archie kisses his neck and Jughead grunts, hips tilting up again. Archie makes a note that Jughead likes this. Archie gets up on his knees, straddling Jughead. He puts his hands between them, sliding them down Jughead’s chest slowly, signaling each move. 

Jughead’s chest rises and falls with faster breaths, and he nods when Archie finally gets to the fly of his jeans. Archie scoots back and pops the button, pulls the zipper down slowly, revealing gray underwear. He pauses.

“What?” Jughead asks, sounding unsure.

“Nothing,” Archie says, getting his fingers into Jughead’s jeans and underwear and pulling down, “I expected something more colorful for your boxers, I don’t know why.”

Jughead rolls his eyes and laughs, a release of nerves. He lifts his ass up, helping Archie. “What did you want, superheroes?”

Archie shrugs, frowning. “No,” he says, it sounding petulant. “Like, I don’t know, plaid or something.” 

Jughead shakes his head, still smiling. “And yet, I’m still turned on by this,” he says, mock confusion.

Archie frowns, looking at Jughead’s face as they both wriggle the rest of Jug’s clothes off. “Sounds like someone doesn’t want a blowjob,” he says aiming for flirtatious. He’s caught off guard by Jughead’s cock, springing free from the confines of his clothes. “Oh,” he says, “ _nevermind._ ”

Jughead is still laughing, pants around his knees, and Archie has to laugh with him, and moves further down the bed, opening up his own jeans to get a relief from the tightness there. It feels at least somewhat better, so Archie gets back to Jughead’s jeans and tugs, pulling them off of Jug’s legs. It leaves him still smiling, and completely bare. Jughead’s laughter dies off, and soon it’s only the sound of them breathing.

Archie takes a minute to appreciate the long, lithe line of Jughead’s body. The surprising thickness of his thighs, the mostly hairless chest, the moles everywhere, and the trail of dark hair leading to a thick, coarse patch surrounding Jughead’s cock. Archie feels drawn, and although he’s only dealt with his own dick, handling Jughead’s should be about the same, right?

Archie hesitantly cups Jughead’s sack, rolling it, gently tugging a bit while Jughead gasps in response, his chest becoming flushed. Archie wants to follow that line of pink-red, to see how far he can make it spread. Archie wants to know everything.

Archie lets go, and tries to lie on the bed, only for the footboard to get in the way. “Goddammit,” he says, and gets off the bed.

“What are you doing?” Jughead asks.

“The bed is too small. Don’t worry, I have an idea,” Archie says, and yanks off his jeans and underwear, kicking them somewhere else. “You have to sit at the edge of the bed, though,” he says, getting on his knees. “Is that okay?”

Jughead is already moving, framing Archie’s shoulders with his legs. “I’m not complaining,” Jughead says. He hisses at the first touch of Archie’s lips to the tip of his cock, gripping the sheets tightly.

Archie hums, and Jughead’s thighs move in response, squeezing Archie’s shoulders. 

Archie runs his tongue along Jughead’s length, going down to suckle at Jug’s balls while rolling them in his palm. He licks his way back up to the head, tasting the precome there. It’s salty, tangy like rain. Archie moves his hand from Jughead’s sack to grip the base, his other hand gripping Jughead’s thigh where there will be a bruise tomorrow. 

Archie starts pumping the fist that holds Jughead’s length, long pulls that gather the fluid coming out of the head down the shaft, twisting at the top. Archie likes this when he’s got his eyes closed and hands in his own shorts at night, so maybe Jughead will like it too. 

Archie stops, he looks up at Jughead who is staring at him so intensely, his chest heaving with short breaths. Archie’s hand loosens his grip on Jughead’s thigh and grabs onto Jughead’s fist still clenched in the sheets. Jughead seems to calm down, and they entwine their fingers together. 

Archie covers his teeth with his lips and begins to slide Jughead’s long, wet cock into his mouth. He doesn’t make it that far without choking and he pulls off. He blushes at his inexperience, looking up through his lashes at Jughead. 

Jug squeezes his hand, brings his other hand, shaking, to push hair out of Archie’s face. “You’re doing so good for me,” Jughead says, his voice low and soft.

Archie feels his face flush even more, and smiles weakly. His heart is racing, and he uses the hand still stroking Jughead to cup his length to his belly as Archie stands on his knees to kiss Jughead.

Jughead squeezes his hand, wraps his free hand around Archie’s neck, thumbing along the line of his jaw. Archie bites Jughead’s bottom lip, and Jughead’s cock twitches in response. Archie wants to lay on top of Jughead, to rub their dicks together, letting the sweat and precome give them the glide they need, enough, but not enough friction. Endlessly grinding their hips together, chasing pleasure while they kiss.

“Archie,” Jughead sighs shakily. 

Archie sits down on his heels and squeezes his shoulders between Jughead’s thighs. Jughead lifts his left leg over Archie’s right shoulder, keeping his right hand on Archie’s head, slowly threading his fingers through Archie’s hair. 

This time, Archie suckles at the tip, tasting the salty tang of Jughead again, running his tongue around and under the head. Drool begins to slide down Jughead’s cock and reaches Archie’s steadying and stroking hand. It smoothes the way to go faster, and with Jughead gently cupping the back of Archie’s skull, Archie decides to go deeper again. 

Jughead’s hips start to jerk at this, small aborted attempts to thrust. Archie lets go of Jughead’s hand to grab onto his hip, pushing him further up on the bed. Jughead moans, both hands in Archie’s hair now. Archie feels a rush of blood through his ears, only leaving the wet, slick sounds of him on Jughead’s cock left, of Jughead huffing air and groaning. Archie feels Jughead’s abs tremble, his hips mostly steady under Archie’s grip. 

“Now,” Jughead says, “I’m coming now, Archie, get off,” he warns, and Archie pulls back only for Jughead’s cock to twitch in Archie’s hand, come spurting out, thick strands that land on Archie’s chest, his chin. Jughead slumps over on the bed, limbs akimbo.

“Uh,” Archie says succinctly. He is suddenly aware of his own heavy cock, of his own needs. He wipes the come from his chest, spits into his hand and starts jerking himself off.

He grunts, so close to the edge, his eyes shut, but then a tight grip stops him. 

Archie whines, opening his eyes to see Jughead, flushed and fierce. “What?” he slurs. He feels like crying, he’s so close.

“You blow me like that and think you’re gonna just get yourself off without me?” Jughead says, sounding almost angry.

“I do it everyday,” Archie counters, but still doesn’t move his hand. 

“Not tonight,” Jughead says softly, and pulls on the offending hand, away from Archie’s cock and up to the bed.

Archie crawls up there, cautious of his dick, still full and eager. Jughead arranges him to lay on his side, Jughead behind him; the big spoon.

“Don’t touch,” Jughead whispers in Archie’s ear, and Archie shudders in response. 

Jughead presses his chin over Archie’s shoulder, his left hand falling down to cup Archie, while the right keeps him propped up to see everything.

Jughead gives a couple of light tugs, and then lifts his hand to Archie’s mouth. “Lick it,” he says, and Archie does so, the come from Jughead already drying out on his cock. 

Jughead pulls his hand away after he deems it good enough, and it goes back to Archie’s cock, slowly stroking it, twisting at the head and gathering the liquid there, just like Archie did before.

“You did so good, Archie,” Jughead says, thumbing the tip and sliding back down. “So good for me. I can’t wait to work you open with my hands, see what you look like totally _gone_.”

Archie groans, throwing his head back and hitting Jughead’s arm. 

“Maybe one day I’ll just keep edging you, because God, Archie you look beautiful like this, wanting.” Jughead pauses, and Archie’s hips jerk in response. “Edging is when I get you so close to coming, but I stop right before,” he explains, picking up his excruciatingly slow pace from earlier. “Just keep doing that, and just use your precome to slick you up. Would you like that?”

Archie opens his mouth, but nothing but a moan comes out. It seems to be a rhetorical question anyway, because Jughead keeps talking.

“Maybe I’ll finger you open and suck you down,” he says and it seems like his fingers become lighter, “and then just stop and see what you do.” Jughead grips the base of Archie’s cock and holds it.

“Fuck, Archie,” Jughead sighs, “You looked so good on your knees for me. On your knees for me, blowing me, and when I had you tied up. Wanted you so bad, had to cover your eyes so you couldn’t see me.”

Archie is lost for words, but Jughead has a plethora, a never ending fountain of ideas of what he’s going to do to Archie. Archie feels like his whole body is shaking, and it may be, he knows that the climax he’s after is so close, but Jughead still hasn’t moved his fucking hand. Archie thrusts, trying to remind Jughead what he’s doing.

It works, and Archie shudders as the slow, wet pace returns. 

“Yeah,” Jughead says, still talking, “And next time I’m gonna ride you, have you hold your own hands on the bed rails, no ties, no touching as I clench around you, around this thick cock-”

Archie comes.

Archie doesn’t know if he blacks out, but he doesn’t remember anything about the coming down, just intense pleasure, come jetting out across his chest in spurts as he groaned. Jughead is still behind him, still has a hand on Archie’s cock, just pressing it into Archie’s body as it twitches in aftershock.

“Fuck,” Archie says hoarsely. He tries to roll over to face Jughead, but fails at it. He ends up flopping onto his back, Jughead shifting around him to accommodate. Archie feels the hot and hard press of Jughead’s cock in his thigh. Archie limply reaches for it, but Jughead pulls away and laughs.

“I’m okay with one round tonight, Arch,” he says. “We’ve got plenty of time for more later.”

“Sure?” Archie asks. 

Jughead nods. “Let me go get some washcloths. I’ll put on my boring underwear,” he teases.

Archie musters enough energy to roll his eyes as Jughead maneuvers around him to get off the bed. Jughead returns after a minute, slightly wet and with a warm washcloth, wiping Archie’s face and chest down before gently brushing off Archie’s cock and balls.

“Get some clean underwear from my drawer,” Archie says, now that he has enough energy. Jughead nods, tosses the dirty washcloth who knows where, and rifles through the drawers for underwear.

He finds a pair, slips them over his now half hard cock, and walks back to the bed. Archie moves over to the wall, his back facing Jughead.

Jughead turns off the light, climbs in behind him, and snuggles up to Archie, absently pulling up the comforter to cover them. 

“Night Archie,” Jughead says, one arm draped over Archie’s chest.

“Night,” Archie says. He sleeps heavily, dreaming of nothing.

When Archie wakes up, Jughead is gone. 

Archie has a moment of panic before his arm lands on the tell-tale crinkle of paper. “Downstairs,” Archie reads. Then, a heart and a J. He gets up and pulls on lounge pants before quickly heading downstairs, the smell of bacon reaching him. “Bacon?” he asks, walking into the kitchen.

“Need the protein,” Jughead says around a piece of toast. He’s got the bread in one hand as he’s monitoring what looks like a huge amount of food. He leaves his post from the stove, and walks over to the kitchen table to grab the pile of paper from last night and a pen. “Have a seat,” Jughead says, slapping the packet on the island and kissing Archie’s forehead.

“I haven’t even had coffee,” Archie says, picking up the papers and pen. 

“I’ll make you some,” Jughead replies. “You can do that in private if you want,” he continues casually, like he didn’t just hand Archie a list of kinks to check off.

“I’d rather ask you than google everything,” Archie says, ticking the yes for bondage. He scans down the list, flipping the pages. “Where’s edging?” he asks, and finds it. “Yes,” he checks. Then, looking at Jughead’s wide eyes, Archie puts a star next to it. 

“Don’t mark yes because I’m into it,” Jughead says, flustered.

“Oh I’m not,” Archie says, and he’s never felt so at ease about anything before this moment.


End file.
